The Education of Scotty Valens
by Jessi Noan
Summary: Scotty didn't put much stock in dreams. That is, he didn't until they started telling him something. Most canon-Valens pairings, with a friendship-based S/L aside.
1. Prologue

**Title**: The Education of Scotty Valens

**Fandom**: _Cold Case_

**Pairings**: mostly canon, including Scotty/Elisa, Scotty/Ana, Scotty/Christina, Scotty/Josie, Scotty/Thomas and Scotty/Frankie; one non-canon, depending on your tilt: Scotty/Lilly, friendship-flavored

**Warnings**: Mature themes: adult situations, adult language

**Genre**: Drama/Romance

**Rating**: R or M

**Feedback**: Appreciated.

**Notes**: One part _A Christmas Carol_, one part _The Five People You Meet in Heaven_ and one part, "_damn_, Scotty gets around," which would be fine, except he himself admits to a lack of boundaries and getting himself and others in trouble spots because of it. This is a multiple chaptered story written primarily to explore Scotty's behavior.

* * *

Prologue

Detective Scotty Valens did not see eye-to-eye with his partner on many things outside of work. Much of it was nitpicky, like how she insisted on calling it a remote control whereas he saw no reason why channel selector was any less of a contender or that she thought onion rings were essentially and indisputably better than chili fries – really stupid things that didn't affect their relationship so much as give it character - but some of the things were important.

Take, for instance, relationships. Scotty Valens sought out companionship because he enjoyed it a great deal, whereas Lilly Rush simultaneously longed for and intensely distrusted the whole institution of Romance and Couples. This lead to their distinctly different dating lives: Lilly occasionally had a date, generally with someone she knew more than her fair share about, which caused Scotty to once joke that she required a background check for flirting. Her reply had been a tad scathing and both Jefferies and Vera declared her the winner of that particular one-off, maybe in part because a pissed off Lilly was a biting Lilly and they liked to stay in her good graces.

In contrast, Scotty's longest Abstinence Now program was around six months (he tended to site, "like a year," as he felt it garnered more respect for his self-imposed celibacy). He had to admit, after Lilly had pointed it out, that knowing a person's last name and STD-test results were hardly going to put out a fire that didn't need putting out. Since then, he'd made a point to always have a last name readily available if she ever called him on it, even if it was a fake.

Still, Lilly's way, Scotty felt, took all the fun out of learning about people in slow, unraveling pieces, so unlike their jobs where they didn't have the luxury or desire to learn about people at a comfortable speed.

For example, Scotty knew that Lilly secretly liked orange. He discovered this on a rainy Saturday afternoon, when he stopped by her apartment to provide (deli-bought) soup for his stubbornly ailing partner; despite having been to her apartment in the past, this was the first time he noticed a wide array of her things – a blanket, a pillow case, a coffee mug, a vase of artificial flowers, a piece of wall art – were all slightly differing shades of orange. It was likely the detail escaped him previously because he had never been confronted with such a clear bias before. It seemed the orange came out in full-force when Lilly was not feeling well.

While Scotty was pleased by the information, for no other reason than the enjoyment he experienced from knowing it, Lilly was less than thrilled that he found out. Lilly acted like orange was a dark, dirty secret, but for her, maybe it was. As a good detective, Valens never discounted the extraordinary explanations until they were proven to be both extraordinary _and_ wrong. Lilly's partner, who enjoyed the unraveling parts and who also was thanked for the soup and practically pushed out the door by her deliberate and pointed coughing, was certain, in due time, he would know why orange was so embarrassing.

Now, if it had been the other way around, Scotty knew that Lilly would pick it apart in her mind and ask him in direct and indirect ways until she could be certain of the answer. Where Scotty was content to wait, Lilly felt she had to know. Surprises threatened Lilly's sense of balance, so she sought them out as quickly and as ruthlessly as possible. It was part of why she was so good at her job, yet so incredibly bad at dating.

Scotty was aware that Lilly did not enjoy that part of dating at all; with every new fact that came out about her, the more she was sure the end of the relationship was nearing. The fact that they had been partners for over five years would do nothing to dissuade her of this; even if Scotty had brought up such a rebuttal, which he didn't because he rarely got involved in Lilly's decisions outside of work, other than the guaranteed offer of support during rough times, he knew she would dismiss it easily with, "that's different, Scotty." Maybe it was and maybe it wasn't. Scotty's relationships with other women tended to play out in the same fashion and he rather liked counting Lilly as his longest enduring and most rewarding one, since Elisa.

Much like Lilly would think it was different and Scotty would not, not _really_, Scotty approached relationships with an open-for-business policy. He may not spill his deepest, darkest secrets on the first, third or even tenth date, but he would rarely slam the door shut on a woman's face. And, if he were to be completely honest, he wasn't that terribly closed fisted about his secrets. He could be pretty stupid about it, actually.

In Scotty's defense, he did try to change. Kind of. That is, his guilt over Ana's death and his feeling of responsibility over Josie's transfer out of homicide caused him to batten down the hatches, which, he thought, was the same as changing. He behaved differently, for a spell, until enough time passed for the bad decisions and the weight of duty not to sting so badly. Then came ADA Thomas and after that, Frankie and even Scotty had to admit that he felt a little shallow. Both fizzled, at different times, and things carried on much as they always had: murders, suicides, lies and omissions and the cold case team watching each others' backs, some more than others.

Five months after Scotty and Frankie ran their lust-driven course, Valens woke abruptly at 3:08 AM, but not to the sound of his work cell or a miss-set alarm clock. Shaken and sweating slightly, he flipped the blankets back and pushed himself out of bed, in search of a glass of water and a walk around his apartment to clear his head. Only one thing was certain, but it was a certainty Scotty was not yet aware of and would not be aware of for many months to come.

The dreams had started.


	2. Chapter 1: We Met On The First Day

**Chapter One: We Met On the First Day**

_He can hear the leaves crunching under their feet, even as he is struck by the cold, and he marvels at the couples, young and old, walking the same walk they are. Tightly clasped in his hand, palm-to-palm, is Elisa's and he knows they're two goofy teenagers in love who ran off for the weekend to see the orange and red leaves of the New England fall. He feels like he can walk forever, down these side streets and park paths, and breathe in the cold, scarring air._

_Elisa tugs him forward by their joined hands, laughing loudly and smiling, and for one blinding moment, Scotty can only see her mousy brown hair twist around her face-_

_-and wet, wet dark cold pale._

_And Scotty blinks and they're here, at a small café with Elisa chattering about how it's much more beautiful than she thought it could be and Scotty relaxes again. _

"_You can't love me forever," Elisa says apropos of nothing Scotty can recall and it unsettles him, but he laughs anyway. "I'm serious," she pouts, taking his hand in hers, his palm facing up, and Scotty loves her pout, she was always too anxious and confused to pout after-_

_alone cold dea-_

_Her nails trace his lifeline, his love line, skirt over the mound of Venus, and she brings him back again, the feeling of her hand against his causing his blood to hum through his veins._

"_You'll get married late in life," she intones, studying his hand intently. He turns his hand over to grasp hers, his thumb rubbing pointedly along her ring finger._

"_Not if I have anything to say about that." He grins at her and she smiles back warmly before pulling his hand from hers and directing his palm skyward again._

"_You love me like I am the only light in the sky," she says. She turns her palm to the blue above and places her hand next to his. _

"_My lifeline is not as long, Scotty," she says. She traces the line that cuts through his palm, then her own. _

"_I have no marriages in my future," she says. She runs her index finger down the skin underneath Scotty's pinky and then her own._

"_No children," she says-_

_Ishea-?_

_And the water is cold, colder than the air he breathes in those red and gold leaves, and somehow he is underwater in the leaves and he is numb, but free and his chest aches, but he's free, there are nomore-_

_Ishe?ishe?ishe?_

"_I am not the only light, Scotty," and she kisses him like she's saying goodbye, like he said goodbye, but she means it. He never did._

_And they're at the café watching the couples walk by and he holds Elisa's hand, because he can't let go, not yet, not ever, because she makes his world brighter just by being in it and he doesn't care about any other lights, only hers, hers is the only one that matters._

_And when he looks at Elisa to tell her that he loves her more than that, more than lights and lines, the cast to her face stops him. In a scared, frantic whisper, Elisa asks, "Do you see the giants?"_

_

* * *

_

Scotty woke up, a hand flying to his face before he was fully upright and conscious. It wasn't strange for him to dream of Elisa. She was in his dreams so often, he had trouble distinguishing the real her and what he wished had been. But his dreams of her were sweet and bright, and he loved her more because she gave him that.

The dream hadn't been like that.

When he had trouble sleeping after her death, preferring instead to stay up and wish her back, on the occasions when he couldn't use his grief and will power to stay awake, he would only sleep long enough to have a nightmare. This hadn't even been like the nightmares.

Without elation or guilt, Scotty instead felt like he had lost her all over again, fresh and painful like the first time, only without the crutch of believing she had been murdered. The dream had caused an ache in his chest that he could only describe as grief, which he fought to control.

"Don't be stupid, Valens. It was just a dream. Just another stupid dream." Scotty let out a shaky breath and grabbed his bedside clock to check the time. 4:30AM. Too early to start the day; too late to get any useful amount of sleep. He set the clock back down and rubbed first at the nape of his neck, then traveled over his head and to his eyes, flopping back against his pillow. The dimming of the dream caused the knot in his heart to ease bit-by-bit, allowing Scotty to drift into a light doze before his five-thirty alarm went off.

When the alarm did go off, Scotty had no trouble getting out of bed.

* * *

"Long night?" Lily asked, accepting the proffered coffee from Scotty.

Scotty took a sip from his own cup and answered her question with another. "Why we out here?"

They walked from the street, around fallen rubble and into the back of the lot, where forensics and a few uniforms worked the dumpsite; a CAT excavator loomed above them. "The construction crew discovered skeletal remains when they broke ground. The building recently burned down from an electrical fire and the owner sold the property to a developer. They were digging out the foundation when they pulled up the body." Lilly glanced at her notes and sipped her coffee, making sure she didn't leave out anything useful. "According to forensics, it appears to be a male in his mid-forties. It seems, from the breaking of a rib – in two parallel places – that he was shot or stabbed straight through the heart. They're still working on an ID. Kat and Vera are interviewing the previous owner now."

Scotty whistled, taking a moment to observe the scene from an unobtrusive distance, before nodding his head back towards the street. "Shot through the heart? Sounds personal. We're knocking doors?"

Lilly nodded and smiled slightly, glancing over the scene once more, then turning back in the direction they came. "You know how it is. Last ones to the office, first ones to the crime scene. Boss' orders."

The time of day could not be worse for a murder investigation. At 8:45 in the morning, two things could be expected: the first was an empty house, as all the occupants had successfully made it off to their day tasks, be those work or school related. The second was a home in chaos as, for some reason, something had gone wrong and the majority was running late and had little time to answer the door, let alone talk to the police for an indefinite amount of time about a body that had nothing to do with them, even if it was in their direct vicinity. Very little information was gained during these initial introductions, but it did at least give them a chance to leave their cards and get a feel for the people in the neighborhood.

More often than not, there would be one, maybe two, helpful people total in the entire area and those people tended to be older than the average family. On this particular morning, that person was in the house across the street and three numbers down from the location of the scene. Having been met with silence and rebuffs at every door as they traversed first one side of the avenue than the other, Detectives Rush and Valens mounted the doorstep of the brick house with little feeling.

Scotty pushed the doorbell with a look of vague disinterest, which his partner ignored. From inside the house, they heard a chirpy, elderly voice sing, "coming!" The door opened before she finished her song and Detectives Rush and Valens were met with a woman no taller than 5'5, her kind and bright face clear beneath the many years present and presumably felt.

"Good morning, Ma'am," Lilly began. "We're Detectives Rush and Valens. We work with Philly homicide." They flashed their badges as a matter of course upon the introduction.

"Oh my! A murder?" the elderly woman asked. Lilly automatically smiled, the expression not reaching her eyes, and Scotty cleared his throat.

"If you have time, we'd like to ask you a few questions," Valens continued.

"Of course! Of course! Come in!" The woman stepped aside and shooed the detectives into her foyer, taking a moment to close the door before leading them to her living room. "Would you like tea or coffee? It's awfully early in the morning for a murder." Scotty had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep his face suitably serious, but Lilly couldn't quite stop herself.

"Well, we've found murder takes place at all times of day," she replied, offering a small smile that animated her whole face. At this, the little woman laughed.

"Oh, I suppose you're right. Please, sit down," she instructed, sitting on her tired, worn couch that may have seen as many years as she had. The couch was a mere symptom of a well loved home: the entire house had the feel of a long-time resident, having become more of an extension of a person than an inhabited building. The living room carried the longness of its owner's life and displayed it through muted brown paint, faded floral wallpaper, a preponderance of dolly coverings and every surface presenting no less than three framed photos. Several of the photos on the standing piano and the wall behind it showed a couple between their thirties and forties, smiling happily and clearly in love.

When Rush and Valens sat in two wingback chairs facing the couch, the woman started again, "Now, what can I help you with, detectives?"

"How long have you lived in the neighborhood, Ms…?" Scotty trailed off, knowing the woman would supply her name.

"Stewart. Abigail Stewart. My married name. Originally Smith." Scotty took note of this, while Lilly pulled her own pad out of an inner coat pocket and took in the general details. "Goodness, I've lived here, let's see now…" Abigail directed her eyes to the ceiling as she ticked off events on her fingers. "I was married in '65 and we moved here three years after, so that's around forty years, I believe. The years run together after a point." She smiled and Scotty could see she'd been vivacious in her youth.

"The store across the street that burned down five months ago, did you know the owner?" Mrs. Stewart's hand fluttered to her chest, dismayed, at the detective's question.

"Quite well. He hasn't been murdered, has he?" At Valens' assurance that he hadn't been, that he just needed to establish how much she knew, the woman nodded and continued. "James is a lovely boy. I say boy, since he was a boy when I first moved to the neighborhood, though I know he is full grown now." Both detectives smiled at Abigail's explanation, but said nothing.

"That store has been there longer than I have. I've known all the owners since then. At first it was the local grocer, but the Morgans – that's Sarah and Leonard – couldn't make the business profitable after the chain store came in during the '70s. In order to keep it going, they switched to souvenirs and craft things. It was quite an abrupt change. They did nothing to phase through: just one day, you could buy lettuce there and the next, they had wind chimes and homemade scarves. They weren't bad at business. They gave us all notice well in advance, and they spoke with their regular customers about their difficulties – not complaining or accusing – but it was still strange to see it happen practically overnight. I suppose it was just a sign of the times." Her hands rose with her complacent shrug and settled back in her lap.

"When did they make this change?" Rush asked.

The older woman thought for a moment, index finger pressed against her lips and eyebrows crinkled. "Oh, it had to be in the early '80s. The chain grocery came in late in the '70s, '78 or '9, after disco died." Scotty gave a little laugh at that and Lilly smiled again. "They tried to compete for a few years, but after awhile, the losses got to be all they could see. I guess they decided it wasn't worth it."

"So they changed it to a different store and sold it?" Mrs. Stewart shook her head.

"They didn't sell it, not them. They signed over ownership to their son, Jacob. He grew up here and he was old enough to run the store on his own. Sarah told me the change just about broke her husband's heart, since the grocery had been in the family for generations. They moved to Florida, I believe. We still exchange Christmas cards every year. I can get their address, if you would like." Valens nodded at her offer.

"That would be great, thank you."

Lilly followed her line of questioning. "Then Jacob was the one who sold it?"

"Oh yes, he sold it to James. They were childhood friends, thick as thieves." She stumbled a moment, realizing her choice of words. "I don't mean to say they were bad boys, just close. Best friends." Rush nodded her understanding while Valens took note of the three owners Abigail had supplied them.

Valens took over again. "About when did he sell it?"

For the first time in their conversation, Abigail seemed hesitant to speak, almost uncertain, though she had only been giving vague estimations in her previous answers.

"Mrs. Stewart?" Rush pressed.

The elderly lady straightened a bit and seemed to come to a decision, but she still spoke slowly, as if not wanting to tell them what she decided she must. "He – Jacob, he was having a bit of trouble at the time. I'm not sure what. I thought it might have been gambling. But, after Jacob sold him the property, I overheard James saying he had helped Jacob out of some trouble and the business wasn't worth half of what he paid. Jacob disappeared within a month after the sale. I haven't seen hide or hair of him since." Rush and Valens exchanged glances and Valens asked his question again.

"When did he sell it?"

"A few years after he took over. '84, I think. My daughter married that year, so I'm fairly certain that's right. I remember thinking at the time that it had been a busy year."

"Do you know if James or the Morgans have had contact with Jacob since the sale?" Mrs. Stewart shook her head.

"I'm sorry. I don't." Rush checked her notes quickly, while Valens recapped his pen and tucked it into an inner pocket.

"Mrs. Stewart, one more thing." At Abigail's nod, Rush continued. "During the store change over, did the Morgans remodel at all?"

"Oh yes. They applied for a loan with the bank and took out the whole inside. I'm not certain how much they did, but the store looked completely different when they were finished." Rush nodded and both she and her partner rose from their chairs, Mrs. Stewart standing when she saw the detectives do so.

"Let me get you that address," Abigail declared, before either of the officers could speak, and she bustled out of the room. Rather than discuss anything now, Valens and Rush examined the room, mainly the photographs. Lilly peered at the happy couple on the piano, while Scotty looked at some family photos on the mantle, mostly of mother and daughter, a few with a young boy at different ages. Abigail returned to the room and handed Valens the address on a piece of torn notebook paper.

"That was current as of last Christmas, but I don't imagine they'd move after ten or so years in the same place." Scotty smiled and thanked her, while placing the scrap of paper in his notepad and tucking both away in his pocket with the pen.

"Thank you for your time, Mrs. Stewart. Would there be a good time for us to return and speak with your husband?" Abigail patted Valens' arm as she shook her head.

"I'm afraid not. I live here alone. My husband died young and I never had it in my heart to remarry. After a great love, it's hard to pretend." She crossed the room to where Rush stood, gazing at a particular framed photograph she had picked up and not yet returned to its resting place. In it, Abigail, fresh and young, no older than 32, blonde hair curled around her face and midriff bared, clung to a darkly handsome, clean-cut man in his late thirties, her arms around his neck, his around her waist, and both were grinning madly. "Handsome, isn't he?" At Lilly's nod, Mrs. Stewart added, "I always told him he reminded me of a movie star, like Gregory Peck or Clarke Gable."

Lilly smiled. "I can see that."

Rush returned the frame to its original position at the center of the piano lid. "Thank you again for your time, Mrs. Stewart." As she spoke, the detective pulled a card from her pocket and handed it to Abigail, who accepted it easily. "If you remember anything else that may be useful to our investigation."

Abigail looked at the card and seemed to nod to herself. "Of course, Detective. Let me see you to the door."

* * *

By the time Rush and Valens had finished their door-to-door canvassing and returned to the crime scene, forensics had already finished the collection of evidence and removal of the remains. What was left was a large hole in the ground, half-covered with debris, the CAT excavator and crime scene tape that barred access to the dig site. Seeing no reason to stay, the partners made their way from Kensington to Philly police headquarters in Center City, calling Stillman on the way.

Their brief stop for food at a hot dog cart lead to a heated discussion over ketchup versus mustard, with mustard winning by default, and only after Lilly pitched the last fourth of what she called, "the worst thing I've ever eaten" in the trash did they bring up the interview of Mrs. Abigail Stewart.

"I'll tell you what," Scotty said, still chewing and making a point to chew audibly upon noticing Lilly's wrinkled nose and grimace, "this fire doesn't sound like an accident. If the owner, James, was losing money as soon as he bought it, I can't see him managing to pull even by now. People were buying way more worthless crap back then and Kensington ain't exactly tourist central."

"Uh huh. You've got some mustard right here," Lilly said, smirking and pointing to the right corner of her mouth. Scotty used his crumpled napkin to wipe at the spot on his face and raised his eyebrows in question. "Got it."

"I'm just saying, there's more going on here than an accidental fire."

"Oh, like the dead body underneath the building?" She asked pointedly, amused. Scotty rolled his eyes and threw the wrapper and napkin in the trash. Becoming serious, Lilly voiced a thought that had been nagging her since the interview. "Depending on how old the body is, it seems it had to be put there either before the store was built or during the remodel. If they dug out the floor, someone could have dumped the body then."

"And what about Jacob and him unloading the store like that? Sounds iffy all the way around." Lilly hummed in agreement as Scotty opened the door to headquarters and let her pass through before him.

"We'll need to follow up on the Morgans, see if they got permits for the remodel and find out the extent of the work, and try to track down Jacob. Forensics said they'd get an analysis to us by tomorrow morning. Hopefully, they'll have an ID."

"Vera and Miller done with James?" Scotty asked, pushing the elevator button pointing up.

"Should be." The elevator doors opened to reveal Jefferies, clearly on his way somewhere, in a hurry if his face was any indication. He smiled in his normal subdued, but pleased way upon noticing Rush and Valens standing to the side of the doors.

"We were wondering when you two would decide to show up."

"Yeah, yeah," Scotty replied. "Where you off to?"

"Lunch," was Will's brisk reply, his eyes shining despite his mouth being pressed as tightly into a straight line as he could manage. "Want me to get you something?"

"No, thanks, we just ate," Lilly answered, narrowly preventing Scotty from saying something to stall or tease Will.

"Good, I'll be awhile." And with that, Will hustled off through the lobby and out the heavy glass doors.

As soon as Jefferies was safely out of earshot, Scotty leaned closer to Lilly and sang, "Lena" with a mischievous smirk. Lilly snorted softly and rolled her eyes at Scotty.

"That's one of the good things about working cold cases," Lilly remarked as they entered the elevator and she pushed the button for their floor. "You can actually make a date and keep it."

Scotty remained, he felt, tactfully silent.

* * *

"_I know," she says._

"_I know."_

"_I know."_

"_I know." _

_She says. _

"_You don't understand."_

_She says._

_She says._

"_You can't."-_

_Scotty feels like he's falling and he hates it, hates everything about it, because he fears landing more than falling, fears the conclusion of whatever tumble he's now experiencing, and keeps falling from the hate of it._

_Until he's not and suddenly, he can't breath and there's water, he feels it on his feet, opens his eyes to it and sees he's in the kitchen of his childhood home, which is only home now, no time, no separation, just home. The sink is overflowing and his mother is yelling at the facet that refuses to shut off and Scotty laughs, realizing this may be the first time he hears the Spanish equivalent of "mother fucker" come out of his mother's mouth._

_At his laughter, his mother spins around, wielding the metal spatula she has been hitting the spout with in frustration, and orders him to go outside and play, turning the order into a shout for his father to get off his ass and fix her sink before they all drown. Scotty rushes from the apartment, still laughing and then he's on the street, then he's holding the handles of his bike, then he sees her._

_Sees her for the very first time._

_Feels his heart beat wildly out of control._

_Knows his brother is nudging him in her direction, because Scotty is too much of a coward to go talk to her without not-so-subtle encouragement._

_And is paralyzed. Everything he's ever thought he knew about girls and love (blech) consolidates on her, becomes her and love (not so blech). Her friends notice his staring and point and giggle at him, nudging her, and she's less of a coward, because she comes over to him, barely even hesitates._

_And when she smiles at him, Scotty hears himself stammer hello._

"_I'm Elisa," she says._

"_Scotty."_

"_I know," she says._

_She touches his hand, still clutching his bike handle, and he suddenly doesn't feel so young and crippled by her presence anymore._

"_I know."_

"_I can't let you go," he says._

"_I know."_

"_You're all I ever wanted," he says._

"_I know," she says._

"_You don't understand," she says._

"_Will I?"_

_She says, "you can't."_

_And he can't breath again and there's water on his face, and she's there, holding him and he realizes, a moment too late to stop himself, that he's crying, sobbing against her, his heart feels like it's trying to tear itself from his body and over and over, she says, "I know" while she rocks him in her arms._

_

* * *

_

Scotty was the first one in the office the next morning, eyes bloodshot, but otherwise present and accounted for. While he waited for his team to filter in, he shuffled his papers, reviewed the notes from Vera and Miller's interview and nursed his coffee with long moments of closed eyes and gripping hands. All he could figure was that, while he didn't feel good, he didn't feel bad either. Numb, maybe. Whatever it was, he hoped it wouldn't affect his ability to work.

"Rough night?" Valens opened his eyes and lifted his head from its resting place against his hands and coffee cup to watch Vera place his keys and badge in the top drawer of his desk and slip off his jacket. He looked like he was preparing for a long day on the phone.

At Vera's glance, Scotty realized he hadn't answered yet, and rolled his eyes with a snort.

"Just been havin' these weird dreams lately." Vera feigned disinterest, flipping open a case folder on his desk.

"Oh?"

Valens shrugged, figuring he'd rather get it off his chest than spend all day turning it over in his mind. "'Bout Elisa." Vera met his eyes with arched brows. Scotty frowned in return.

"Some kind of anniversary coming up?" Scotty shook his head.

"Nah, nothing." While that wasn't strictly true, as every day was a day Scotty could trace back to a memory of Elisa, it was true in reference to what Vera meant. "Even that, though, it's been going on for a few weeks. It's never gone on this long before, except after." He dropped his arms and shook his head again, expecting Vera to know what the exception was.

Vera hummed deep in his throat, studying Valens with muted concern, before offering the best he could in the way of advice. "Sounds like you could use a drink." Scotty laughed shortly and agreed that drinks after work was just what he needed. Nodding in turn, Vera wrote a reminder to call Toni at lunch on a post-it note and stuck it to his computer, just as the boss was coming in.

"Morning, Boss," Valens called in greeting, noticing Stillman was carrying a file with him. The lieutenant walked towards the waiting detectives, lifting the file as he got closer and handing it to Vera. Vera flipped the file open as Stillman explained.

"Met up with forensics in the elevator. They I. the body on the cold job yesterday."

"Already?" Scotty stood from his desk and walked to Vera's, settling for reading over his shoulder. Vera moved the top printout aside and laughed shortly.

"A birth certificate _and_ a death certificate."

"According to their records, he was buried at St. Luke's Episcopal in Germantown." Stillman watched the two men flounder at this information, before Valens was forced to ask the obvious.

"But he was under a building in Kensington. Who's buried at St. Luke's?" Stillman faced Scotty's bewilderment and met it with calm certainty.

"Find out." Valens closed his mouth and looked back to the file as Vera shook his head, chuckling softly at the unexpected development. Stillman nodded at his men and walked into his office.

* * *

"George M. Pimano. Next of kin, Meredith Brinkle. Wife at time of death. Remarried once since. Second husband deceased." Rush turned her gaze back to the brick faced building and mounted the steps, Valens following shortly after.

Scotty glanced down the street while his partner buzzed the intercom for Mrs. Brinkle's apartment. "She moved as far as she could without leaving Philly. Strange." _Suspicious_, he meant.

"Bad memories, maybe," Rush replied before the intercom came to life.

"Hello?" called a feeble voice into the cold air of the stoop.

"Meredith Brinkle?" Lilly called back.

"Yes?"

"Mrs. Brinkle, I'm Detective Rush. I'm here with my partner, Detective Valens. We're with Philadelphia Homicide. We'd like to talk to you about your husband, George." The intercom cut off suddenly, the static of the old system extinguishing like fire in ash. After a few moments, Lilly tried to call the woman again, only to be met with silence.

Scotty pressed the tips of his fingers into the valleys between each digit, coaxing his warm, leather gloves into a tighter fit, as they waited in the cold. He was just about to suggest they might have to go through more official channels, pulling his scarf closer to his neck, when the door suddenly released with a buzz and Mrs. Brinkle's voice sounded over the intercom again.

"Please come up." The detectives exchanged glances before Rush grabbed the door handle and pulled it open.

Two flights of stairs later, the detectives arrived at a badly chipped door, the B of 2B dangling precariously from one short nail and the flaking gold finish of the doorknob revealing the cheap nickel underneath. Though Callowhill was going through something of a revival, it appeared this building was not.

Valens lifted his hand to knock when the door opened abruptly and a head of gray, curl hair peeked through the slat, before it slammed shut again. As the locks clicked and chimed on the other side, Scotty looked towards Lilly, feeling uneasy and absurd for it. The door opened again, wide enough to see a whole person, and the elderly woman, presumably Mrs. Brinkle, blinked owlishly at them.

"You're here about George?" she asked in way of greeting and at their nod, she stepped aside for them to enter.

For the most part, her home was not what Scotty expected. While it was small, the door opening directly into the living room, an open kitchen to their immediate left and what was probably a closet behind another door to their right, that was where his assumptions derailed. Instead of kitschy knick-knacks and worn out furniture, he found himself in a sparse, modern living space, the easel set up by the window his only indication that there was a plausible explanation for why he appeared to be in the presence of someone who was now a part of her time, years after she had supposedly had it. The walls avoided the normal familial display of photographs and were instead adorned with abstract pictures of varying degrees of geometry. The furniture was all black leather, with what looked to be overlapping spots painted on it in some places and the coffee table was clear glass, held up by straight, plain black metal.

Meredith shut the door behind the detectives and gestured to the living room. As Rush sat on the couch and Valens remained standing, Mrs. Brinkle moved past them both to take a seat at her easel. Scotty could see now they had interrupted her while painting, the palette already containing mixtures of blue, brown and lavender.

Mrs. Brinkle took a large paintbrush from the water glass next to her and dried it on her stained button down, squeezing the base of the bristles to push out the watery paint, and waited.

"You're an artist?" Rush asked, moving slightly in her seat. Mrs. Brinkle's lips thinned and she set the brush aside, a new blue stain on the bottom of her shirt.

"Hobby painter," she answered stiffly. "Have you solved George's case?"

"Not quite," Valens interjected. "We found him."

Meredith's forehead crinkled in confusion. "Found him? I don't understand."

"We found your husband's body under a building in Kensington." At Meredith's uncomprehending look, Rush pressed, "Do you have any idea why he would be there?"

"No, of course not. He's buried at St. Luke's. How could he be-" she paused, seemed to take stock and tried again. "May I see your badges, please?" After Rush and Valens produced their badges and let her examine them, she seemed more confused.

"We didn't know anyone outside of Germantown. It's where we grew up. St. Luke's was our church. He was buried there. I _know_ he was." Mrs. Brinkle shifted in agitation, her elbow knocking the table with her art supplies and dislodged a paintbrush. It rolled and fell to the floor, unheeded by Brinkle and Rush, but somehow grabbing and holding Scotty's attention.

"Mrs. Brinkle," Rush started, trying to get her to move beyond the horror of her husband's body being desecrated, "we know your husband was shot under strange circumstances." Meredith lifted her eyes from the floor and spoke in a bewildered voice, edging closely to shock.

"Shot through the heart, on the bridge. No blood on him, no hole in his clothes. I never truly recovered from it." Rush nodded, but Meredith continued. "Are you sure it's him? The one you found?"

"Yes, we are."

"Then who-?" She couldn't finish her question, the idea of having visited a stranger's grave in grief only adding to her horror.

"That's why we're here. We'd like your permission to have the burial site exhumed." Rather than answer the detective's statement with an actual decision, Meredith found the escaped brush and picked it up. As her fingers touched the wood handle, Scotty jolted from his reverie, glancing quickly at his partner to see if his absence was noticed. While he saw no reason to think he was caught, he had a feeling he'd hear about it after they left.

"I don't know why he'd be in Kensington." Mrs. Brinkle placed the brush back on the table and stared at it blankly. Her mind seemed to have run aground.

"Mrs. Brinkle." This time, Lilly waited for Meredith to look up before she continued. "We are trying to find that out. The first step to that is knowing what, if anything, is in his place." Meredith nodded slightly, then nodded again, more firmly.

"Will they put him back? Back where he belongs?"

Rush couldn't and wouldn't lie to her, even if a lie were likely to hurt less. "We won't. You will be able to, though, if we exhume the site. How soon you'll be able to will depend on how long the investigation takes. We'd release his remains into your custody after we were certain we could. After that, it's up to you and St. Luke's." Meredith looked relieved, assured that she could do a better job reburying her husband than strangers from the government.

"Then yes. I'll allow it. I'll sign whatever you need me to. George was a good man. He shouldn't be-" she stopped, but her gaze was clear and her hand was steady when she signed the paper that allowed them to dig up her husband's grave.

* * *

_The water is warm against his body and, for a moment, he can't tell if he's swimming or in the shower. He just feels water sliding over his skin and his eyes are closed to it._

_Then he breaks through the surface and he knows he's at a beach, one he's never been to, probably in Florida and she's on the sand, waiting for him to leave the water and return to her. He knows he's dreaming, because this is a promise unfulfilled, a waking dream unrealized._

_But she's beautiful, standing with the sun bringing the shine of the beaded ocean water on her lightly tanned skin into sharp focus, her lips curved into a closed mouth smile that speaks of waiting and watching, joy suspended, and Scotty doesn't care if this is a dream, not at all._

_And he stays. Stays in the water, in the warm, and watches her as she watches him and enjoys the sublime nature of the moment, suspended and free._

_And Scotty knows now, knows it in his heart, that he's ready to let her go and love her from afar, like she'd want, like he needs to._


End file.
